July 5, 1617 Central Calendar; 02:00 Local Time

  Samboangan, Malayo Province, Eastern Maritime Holy Milishial Empire

  After spending some time recreating in the provincial capital, the fifth day of Meteos and company's vacation in the Malayo Province brought them to a city on the southern end of the main island, traveling by air from Maypita. Given that the city was where the Righteous Salvation Army's liaison would be dropping off the anomalies captured recently in the Annonrial Empire, the place was included in the itinerary not only for its beautiful beach, but also to make it convenient for the White Lotus Leader. It was a simple application of the saying, 'Killing two birds with one stone.'

  The flying boat carrying the cargo had already touched down by sunset and now rested offshore near Samboangan, hiding in plain sight by looking like a regular Milishian aircraft with a MOASEC paint scheme. Meteos, however, didn't get the chance to check it himself until the others had fallen asleep, like usual. After hours of restraining his impatience by sharing lighthearted moments with his friends, he finally slipped into action. Cutting through the darkness like the wind with his ODM Gear, Meteos boarded the flying boat in the early morning hours, with Lugiel at his side.

  "Welcome aboard, My Great Creator! Your Highness!"

  A somewhat smug-looking Clotho's voice echoed boisterously in the cabin as she greeted the two, accompanied by her sister Lachesis. Although the flying boat's specifications listed a four-person crew, only the two of them were aboard. With the craft already under AI control, their presence was, frankly, somewhat unnecessary. Still, the current protocol required their unit to be there as escorts, minus Atropos, who had remained in Trinil.

  'Hn... maybe I should rework that part for better efficiency later...'

  "Good work, everyone."

  As he casually praised the two, Meteos filed the thought away for future reference, noting once again how his Magias handled rapid, minimal adjustments far more effectively than any biological counterpart.

  Without their armors, the two Magias' human-like features were fully visible to Lugiel, a sight that once more underscored just how far ahead Meteos' pedanium technology truly was. The unit's 'middle sister,' #12 Clotho, stood at Lugiel's height as a verdant-eyed woman with greenish-black hair styled into a braided half-ponytail. Her younger counterpart, #60 Lachesis, was equally tall but more slender, her nearly black-red hair falling to her shoulders, complemented by violet eyes. A pair of hair clips pinned back two strands that framed her face.

  'So much variation in characters...' Lugiel inwardly thought.

  When she first heard that the Xyston Magias (equivalent to an army's officer corps) possessed features similar to those of Mankind, unlike the uniformly mechanical 'grunt' Magias, the princess had wryly assumed they would simply reflect the White Lotus Leader's... ahem, preferences, especially since he already had a partner at the time. Yet after spending time with them, Lugiel was taken aback by the sheer diversity among the numbered Magias. The only true constant was that their default forms appeared youthful, fit, and pleasing to the eye—but well, that was just average Holy Milishial Empire citizen, so no surprise there. Even then, those appearances could be altered at will, exhibiting a limited form of the hypothetical 'shapeshifting' magic ability.

  Returning to the topic...

  "I would like to see the cargo," Meteos declared, cutting off Lugiel from her wandering thoughts.

  "Right this way, Master."

  Guided by the sisters, the two made their way to the cargo bay situated in the rear section of the flying boat. The space was bathed in a frigid blue glow, with several stasis pods lining the walls, their transparent lids frosted over. Most were dark and empty, awaiting future use. Only two in the center were active, their interiors glowing faintly as Amrita churned within, silhouettes shifting beneath the surface.

  Following Meteos, who approached those two without hesitation, Lugiel stepped up to the pod on the left and peered through the window. The frost cleared for a moment under her gaze, revealing the occupant.

  "Ugh...!"

  She recoiled instantly, a sharp intake of breath hissing between her teeth.

  "What is it?" Meteos glanced over his shoulder.

  "The anomaly... that thing... it looks even worse up close."

  Turning fully toward the pod, Meteos let out a hum.

  "Ah, the unrecorded one. It does seem like the Ancient Sorcerous Empire's run-of-the-mill minor bioweapons they used as shock troops, but since the report mentioned its ability to talk, maybe its level was closer to that of the Ogres?"

  Lugiel shook her head in mild disgust, a snort escaping her. To the Holy Empire's common sense, an intelligent version of the monsters they slaughtered on a regular basis as vermin left behind by the worst beings to ever stain history was somewhat useful since they could be interrogated for information, but they were monsters all the same.

  "...Where do you think this creature came from? It spoke in a language unknown to the known world, could it be a member of a civilization somewhere who was forcibly turned into an intelligent monster by the Annonrial Empire? Or was it lab-grown and let live in isolation with others to the point it developed its own culture?"

  At Lachesis' question, Meteos' expression darkened.

  "We'll find out about that..."

  Satisfied with the ugly creature, their attention shifted to the pod opposite it. As the frost on the viewport cleared, the interior revealed another humanoid form suspended in liquid, but...

  "The Lord mentioned in the report... is this woman."

  Meteos voiced the confirmation quietly.

  "Annonrial's super soldier..."

  "So they already have them ready this whole time, no wonder their entire military was comprised of Lords only three decades from now."

  "Do you think we managed to slow that down at all?" Lugiel asked, but quickly corrected herself. "No—never mind. That's just wishful thinking."

  Glancing at the peacefully slumbering occupant, Lugiel's disgust gave way to a feeling of curiosity. The figure within was a woman, completely naked and eerily hairless. Her skin was pale and blotched with recently healed burns. According to the report, the Lord had incinerated her clothes and hair herself during a failed attempt to kill #6 Atropos in the struggle to subdue her, resulting in her current appearance.

  "You've both reviewed the report about her too, right?" Lachesis called over.

  Meteos gave a firm nod.

  "Yeah, we have."

  She had nearly awakened mere minutes after initial containment. Thus, drawing on Atropos' combat data, they quickly engineered a new stasis pod designed to counter the Lord's abilities. Her mana was constantly drained, while anesthesia far exceeding normal requirements was administered and recalculated every few seconds based on her vital signs. This process disrupted her regenerative capabilities, evident in the slower healing of her burns. Additionally, hidden from external observation, pedanium restraints ensured the Lord's complete immobilization.

  Meteos let the silence linger for a heartbeat longer, then exhaled through his nose.

  "Right. Let's get on with the main agenda."

  Lugiel stiffened at his side at those words. She looked from him to the stasis pod, then back again.

  "Are you sure?"

  Meteos shrugged.

  "We can't afford to waste time, no? Whether I like it or not, we need information from this Lord. Atropos' successful infiltration of the Annonrial Empire's society depends on us, so yes, I'm sure about it. I'll be counting on you to support me with mana."

  Lugiel swallowed, then nodded once. "Got it."

  Turning toward the two Magias, Meteos' tone shifted from conversational to commanding.

  "Do it."

  "Yes, Master," Clotho and Lachesis straightened and replied in unison.

  At the order, the flying boat's mechanism came alive. The Amrita inside the Lord's pod began to drain away, while the mana drain rate was reduced to a bare minimum. The anesthesia followed suit, recalculating in real time until only a thin veil remained, just enough to guide the subject toward consciousness but with her mana at a level manageable by Meteos' magic.

  Meteos drew in a deep breath and brought his hands together, fingers interlaced in a prayer-like clasp as he focused on drawing his mana reserves. Beside him, Lugiel stepped closer and placed her palm firmly against his back, channeling her own mana to support the silver-haired young man. Her posture was tense, braced for the unknown.

  "The Lord's cortical activity is gradually increasing. This is it."

  Watching the pair from the sidelines while monitoring the systems, Lachesis leaned to her sister.

  "My, my, the situation just turned incredibly suspenseful," she quipped, half-jokingly.

  "Hush."

  Meanwhile, the stasis pod shifted position. Locks disengaged in sequence as it was brought closer to Meteos and Lugiel, while the head section slid open, releasing a faint hiss of chilled air into the cargo bay. Frost evaporated along the edges, leaving the woman's face exposed while the rest of her body remained secured and restrained.

  They waited. Seconds stretched into minutes.

  At that moment, 5 minutes and 33 seconds after the deactivation, the Lord jolted awake. Her eyes flew wide open in shock with a sharp gasp, while her body began to struggle against the unseen restraints.

  —And at that very instant, Meteos reached with his will into the deep well of his mana, amplified by the steady stream from Lugiel at his back. His utmost desire in that heartbeat to enter the Lord's soul manifested in an instant, and he inwardly roared the catalyst of his unique magic.

  His own eyes flared wide.

  'Temple of Heaven!'

  From the Lord's perspective, reality collapsed into a violent explosion of light. Meteos' silver-haired figure dissolved, transforming into twin suns of blinding, all-devouring blue that overwhelmed her senses, annihilating the line between outer world and inner self. She felt an immense presence surge through her eyes and inundate the pathways of her mind.

  As the Lord's eyes ignited with an identical azure blaze, her struggling ceased entirely. Her body went utterly limp in the restraints, save for the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest. She stared blankly forward, her gaze seeing nothing of the physical world, now locked onto the internal landscape Meteos had connected to.

  A heavy, palpable silence descended, broken only by the hum of the flying boat's systems.

  "Kyah—!"

  After Meteos did it, Lugiel yelped and stumbled back from Meteos as if burned. Not only did the process hollow their mana reserves following the surge of power, Lugiel also felt something else occurring at that moment. Clotho was there in an instant to support her.

  "Your Highness?"

  "I—I'm alright," Lugiel breathed.

  She blinked, trying to clear her vision. For a fraction of a second, as Meteos unleashed his spell, she could have sworn she saw it—a brilliant eruption of radiant light from his back, like phantom wings of greenish-white mana flaring wide before vanishing. Just a visual flare from the mana discharge, she told herself firmly, dismissing the startling image. The spell's activation had been overwhelmingly intense this time, to the point that even Lugiel, an elf, felt very drained.

  Meteos, for his part, was consumed by a wave of exhaustion of his own. He swayed slightly on his feet, one hand coming to rub at his own eyes, which felt gritty and hot, as if he'd stared directly into a forge.

  'This has to be the most intense I've ever used it,' he thought. 'If it's this hard for a single weakened Lord... not even this will be enough to do the same to the Messiah...'

  "Your Highness?"

  Meteos' voice was strained as he continued to press the heels of his palms against his closed eyes, trying to soothe the burning sensation.

  "...I'm okay!"

  Lugiel's own voice was still a bit breathless as she steadied herself with Clotho's help. Hearing Meteos groan softly in pain, she added tiredly, "You must have been exerting yourself very hard too."

  Meteos chuckled weakly in acknowledgment.

  While the two recovered, Clotho and Lachesis quickly moved into action, channeling healing magic. Lachesis carefully pried Meteos' hands away from his face and directed the magic toward his eyes and his drained core. The gritty heat receded, replaced by a soothing chill, and some of the profound exhaustion lifted.

  As the healing took effect, all four of them turned their attention to the Lord in the open pod. The woman remained utterly motionless, her eyes still open and glowing with that fading azure residue of Meteos' Temple of Heaven. Her expression was completely blank, devoid of any intelligence or awareness.

  Lachesis tilted her head.

  "Master, surging mana aside, it looked like you just glared really hard into this woman that she froze... Is she dead?"

  "Very funny, Lachesis. Where did you even pick up that sense of humor?" Meteos retorted, shooting the Magia a dry sidelong glance.

  Watching such an offhand exchange between creator and creation right after such a charged moment, the sheer weirdness of it all made Lugiel snort with laughter before she hastily clamped it down.

  Meteos reached the stasis pod with his hand and snapped his fingers sharply, right in front of her eyes.

  "Anybody home?"

  The Lord's eyes blinked once, slowly. Her pupils contracted, focusing on the silver-haired young man leaning over her. She took a slow breath, the first one she seemed to consciously control since waking.

  "...Where am I?" she asked. Her voice was calm and devoid of panic, as if she were inquiring about the weather.

  Her eyes tried to shift, to take in her surroundings, but her head was held fast. A faint frown touched her brow as she tested her limbs, feeling the absolute immobilization.

  "...And why am I restrained?"

  The same calm tone, only a hint of analytical curiosity coloring it.

  "Precautions in case you decided to do something threatening."

  The woman was silent for a moment, processing. "I see. And what, precisely, was I about to do that was threatening?"

  "...Hn. We'll explain everything. In return, you will explain things about yourself without resorting to violence. Do we have an accord?"

  The Lord's gaze remained fixed on this young man.

  "I don't mind. Ask away."

  It was a polite inquiry, so it was only right that she answered civilly, the Lord thought. This situation might be weird and uncomfortable, but since this young man promised her, there was no need to lash out like some cornered animal.

  "Right. What is your real name?"

  "I don't have a 'real name' of my own. I am issued designations by my superiors for operational purposes. I use whichever one is currently assigned."

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Meteos nodded slowly.

  "And what is the latest designation you were using?"

  "Arial Hepburn."

  "Ah," Meteos clapped his hands once. "Bad news. That name's been taken by someone else while you were unconscious. You'll need a new one."

  From beside him, Lugiel shot Meteos a deeply weirded-out look, her eyebrows climbing toward her hairline. Her expression screamed, 'What in the world is he doing?'

  Meteos caught the look and gave her a shrug. Internally, he was observing the Lord's reactions. This was a test with a benign but rather absurd request to gauge the depth and stability of the Temple of Heaven's effect. After all, a Lord was supposed to be the Nephilim's super-soldier. They were even more Ravernal-lite than an elf ever was. In his opinion, asking someone to change a borrowed name wasn't even that strange, given the circumstances.

  "Did I really remain inactive for that long?" the Lord wondered for a moment. "...Very well. Then I require a new designation. Please provide one."

  "Sure. Luger Lugh."

  "Acknowledged. My designation is now Luger Lugh."

  Meteos leaned in slightly, his silver hair catching the cold blue light of the pod.

  "You're sure?"

  "I am sure. The designation is acceptable."

  "Positive?"

  "I am positive. The previous designation is void. This one is now my 'name.'"

  "Absolutely certain?"

  For the first time, a flicker of something besides passive acceptance crossed the Lord's—now Luger's—face. A faint crease appeared between her brows.

  "Why do you repeat the same inquiry in multiple forms? What is it that you fear that requires this much confirmation of my acceptance?"

  Meteos exhaled, then an apologetic grin spread across his features. With a chuckle, he straightened up.

  "My apologies. I need to be sure."

  "Now you do."

  "Yes, yes."

  Meteos turned to Clotho and Lachesis.

  "Alright, release Luger's restraints and help her out."

  "Wha—!?" Lugiel blurted out, panic flashing as she grasped his arm.

  "She'll need clothing first," Lachesis chimed in.

  Inside the pod, Luger observed the unfolding exchange. The elf's panicked expression was clear, as was the young man's steadying gesture. To be fair, it was logical. If their roles were reversed, she would also be cautious and balk at the young man's recklessness. But it's not like she had any intention of harming these people. They had not attacked her upon awakening, they were communicating, and they had promised explanations. Harming them would be counterproductive unless they acted with hostile intent first.

  Finally, at the end of the back-and-forth, Meteos nodded.

  "Fair enough. We'll wait outside. You two, prepare her and bring her out when she's ready."

  "Understood."

  "You got it~"

  Meteos ushered the still-uneasy Lugiel out of the cargo bay. As the door hissed shut behind them, the locking mechanisms on Luger's pod began to disengage with a series of heavy clicks. The pedanium bands securing her wrists, ankles, and torso retracted into the pod's frame.

  As she moved slowly, the last of the viscous Amrita sluicing off her pale skin, Lachesis approached with a bundle of clothing. Clotho offered a hand to help her out.

  "Man, you bounce back fast."

  "So it seems."

  Luger accepted the hand, her movements stiff and deliberate as she stepped out onto the cold deck barefoot. She took the clothing and began to dress.

  As she did, she spoke to the two women still present. "That young man's methods seem to be unconventional... at least from the elf's perspective."

  Clotho snorted.

  "Yeah. That's one way to put it. Welcome aboard, by the way."

  ?????

  July 5, 1617 Central Calendar; 09:00 Local Time

  In the shimmering light of a summer morning, the alleged MOASEC flying boat sat peacefully at a nearby dock, clearly visible to beachgoers as visitors mingled about. Roughly on par in size with the Boudica 213, the flying boat airliner nicknamed the "flying bahamut" itself, this one featured a more streamlined silhouette and stood out immediately thanks to its tall Y-shaped tail rising prominently above the fuselage. As with the Boudica, it was driven by four jet engines; however, this design had been conceived from the outset as a strategic bomber and high-speed minelayer flying boat demonstrator, rather than a civilian model like the Boudica. Fresh from its emergence from the Cauldron just the day before, the flying boat was a one-of-a-kind prototype and had yet to be given an official designation—at least none known to the public. Even so, the Ministry of Ancient Sorcerous Empire Countermeasures, the institution whose identity the aircraft borrowed, had already provided it with a civilian-style name, adhering to the convention of christening airliners after people's names.

  The flying boat's name was—

  "'Meteos'!? Hahahahahahaha!!! The Ancient Ministry's people sure have a sense of humor naming that pudgy thing after you!"

  "Who are you calling pudgy!?"

  That morning, Meteos Roguerider stood at the beach along with his friends, but with an indignant scowl on his face.

  The cause was the silver-haired young noblewoman beside him, laughing without restraint. Nadia was being supportive as usual, while Walman snickered—only to fall silent when Meteos quickly drew a finger at him with the speed of a desert gunslinger. The rest of the group merely observed, caught between amusement and exasperation.

  "What are you laughing at? It's not like I'm the only Meteos around here..."

  "Yes, you are," Annette Pendragon said between laughs. "You're the only Meteos I've ever met in my entire life."

  'That's just because you're sheltered girl,' Meteos shot back in his mind. But after giving it serious thought, he realized he'd never met another Meteos either. With no comeback—and no desire to fabricate evidence just to win an argument—he settled for rolling his eyes. He wasn't Legiel.

  So where were all the other Meteoses?

  The truth was, the name was incredibly uncommon. You'd think that since it sounded like 'meteor,' an object revered in the Holy Milishial Empire as a kind of inanimate savior of humanity, parents would name their children after it. But the people of the Holy Empire didn't even call it a meteor—they referred to it as the 'August Star of Heaven.' Anyone naming their child after it would choose "Augustus" or "Astra," not "Meteos."

  So where did the name "Meteos" come from?

  No one really knew. The mystery rivaled the question of why both Meteos and Annette had silver hair.

  Having never cared much about it before, Meteos decided he'd ask his parents later. He only hoped they hadn't named him after something ridiculous. Since no one had ever mocked his name before, he figured it was just an exotic-sounding one. And besides—if it really did come from a meteor, that wasn't so bad. Meteors were pretty damn cool.

  As he eyed Annette warily, Meteos crossed his arms over his toned chest.

  Ah, yes. Speaking of which, since they were on a beach and were about to swim, the group was 'dressed' for the occasion.

  The boys were straightforward: they wore only swim briefs or trunks, leaving their chests and backs bare to the sun. Meteos himself sported simple khaki knee-high shorts. The lean, well-trained physiques he and the other boys had earned through constant physical conditioning drew more than a few appreciative looks from nearby beachgoers—looks they either failed to notice entirely or chose to ignore.

  The girls' swimwear, by contrast, was far more covering. The prevailing style was a one-piece suit, often with a modest skirt-like frill at the hips and sturdy shoulder straps. In this era, this was the common swimwear across the known world. The more revealing two-piece "bikini," a concept that became widespread with Japan several decades from now, existed but was still considered daring and was rarely seen outside of certain cosmopolitan ports or among the most rebellious of youths. In that sense, the Holy Milishial Empire wasn't all that different from the Gra Valkas Empire, though the Holy Empire was, by nature, somewhat less rigid in its conservatism.

  What about Meteos' thought on that matter? Well, his immediate priority was thinking of a comeback to protect his dignity.

  "........."

  Meteos glanced down at the seawater lapping at his ankles. The cool water offered a momentary distraction from the heat of his cheeks. Then, an idea struck him. It was juvenile, perhaps, but satisfying.

  "Hey, Annette."

  "Hahah... hm?"

  "En garde!"

  Meteos kicked the water hard at her, sending a silvery arc of seawater directly at the laughing noblewoman. It caught her squarely across the face.

  "Aieee! Wh—what—did you just—"

  Gaping like fish, she looked back at Meteos, her eyes widening in theatrical shock that swiftly ignited into challenge.

  And then it was on.

  ............

  On a pier in the distance, Lugiel, in her Secretary Novachrono disguise, watched the boys and girls under her care breaking into a water fight while smoking her favorite brand of cigarette. A thin ribbon of smoke curled from the corner of her lips as she chuckled wryly. Water splashed, laughter rang out, and for a moment the weight of everything felt very far away.

  "Kids," she muttered amusedly. She then tapped ash from her cigarette into the sea.

  At that moment, footsteps sounded on the pier's sun-warmed planks. Someone stopped beside her, close enough that Lugiel could feel another presence without even turning her head. Still, she glanced sideways—and smiled.

  The Annonrial Lord, Luger Lugh, stood there, taking in the same scene quietly. She was an odd picture in the best possible way: completely lacking body hair, her smooth skin giving her an uncanny mannequin-like quality that clothing only barely disguised. A cotton bucket hat covered her bald head, and she wore a loose yellow and orange horizontally striped t-shirt and practical black knee-high shorts. The wing appendages protruding from her shoulders, also devoid of their signature black and white feathers, were skillfully hidden by a trick the Annonrial 'defectors' had shown her. Apparently, it wasn't as painful as it looked.

  Dressed like this, she passed for mostly normal, at least compared to the sheer, deeply unsettling impression she'd made when Lugiel had first laid her eyes on her without a stitch of clothing, looking less like a person and more like a living artifact.

  "So—have you finished getting up to speed?"

  On the real history of the Annonrial Empire, that is.

  "Yes. As much as one can. It was difficult to stomach, but enlightening."

  "You know," Lugiel said lightly, "seeing you up and walking around this soon... must be nice. Your recovery's been fast."

  "I'll take that as a compliment."

  "It is."

  Lugiel chuckled before she took another drag, eyes half-lidded as she caught glimpse of Meteos dodging a retaliatory splash and nearly slip on the wet sand.

  Despite the jarring, heavily contradicting narrative between her 'previous' life in Annonrial and the one she now inhabited, the Lord now known as Luger Lugh felt no aversion to it all and just rolled with it. After all, once one beheld the Temple of Heaven, they remain within it forever. Neither Lugiel nor Luger knew or realized this, but it was one of the reincarnator's most versatile powers that he reverse-engineered from Attarsamain's inherited memories.

  It was true that Luger's mana reserves had refilled astonishingly quickly after her initial awakening, surging back to full capacity as though the well itself had never been touched. And yet, despite all that, Luger Lugh had shown no resistance whatsoever once Temple of Heaven took place.

  The reason lay in the nature of the 'technique' itself. Temple of Heaven did force its way through defenses, but it did not seek to overpower the target's will. Instead, it reached a person's soul directly. In its origin, it was a bastardized form of the Malakhs' Common Destiny, a phenomenon in which two souls resonate, align, and momentarily share a state of existence. Where Common Destiny was mutual, Temple of Heaven was asymmetrical.

  Because of its incomplete nature, Temple of Heaven will provoke a reaction from a person's mana, driven by the body's mechanism to reject external interference. Anything sensed as foreign, hostile, or invasive would be pushed away automatically, much like an immune response. That was why individuals with mana reserves considered unfathomably strong such as Emperor Milishial VIII or Zarathostra of the Messiah might be immune to this technique. Yet once the technique successfully embedded itself, the mana ceased its resistance, accepting what the soul now perceived as natural. And Meteos had resolved to ensure that this was exactly how Luger and many others before her perceived it, still quite ignorant of its more esoteric aspects.

  The Fate's Rebel was still far from achieving it—Theos.

  Walking the path of heaven, the one who will rule over all.

  July 6, 1617 Central Calendar; 14:00 Local Time

  Area 48, Vaneta Province, Holy Milishial Empire

  Hidden deep in the wastelands to the southwest of the continental Holy Milishial Empire (the Middle Lands) is a highly classified airfield overseen by a nearby air force base, dedicated to development and testing of experimental aircraft and weaponry.

  That day, a single aircraft descended from the pale blue above on a landing approach to the runway visible among the reddish, barren terrain.

  The plane looked like a normal, if very sophisticated and large, fighter jet, and it deployed its landing gear normally. It lined up perfectly with the runway centerline, its speed bleeding off rapidly. But instead of flaring for a touchdown, the aircraft continued to slow until it was hanging motionless in the air, a dozen meters above the tarmac. Then, it descended vertically, landing gear kissing the ground with a slight bounce.

  ............

  Inside a heavily shielded facility buried within a complex next to the airfield, the cockpit of a high-fidelity simulator hissed open, venting cool air. From within, a short-haired feline beastwoman unstrapped herself, her ears twitching as they adjusted from the simulated roar of engines to the room's environment.

  Two handlers approached the simulator platform with clipboards in hand. The lead handler offered a smile to their test pilot.

  "Thank you for your hard work, Tagmatarch Matoya."

  Hopping down from the simulator platform, Go-Matoya-Zeda, the Imperial Guard's Tagmatarch (Major), returned the gesture with a grin, her bright blue eyes shining with mirth. As she stretched her arms over her head, the faint ache in her shoulders reminded her just how real the session had felt.

  "...Well, that was bracing. It's been a while since I piloted a fighter. A relief to bring it down in one piece, huh?"

  The other handler chuckled. "We could always take a crash as a durability test. See if our pedanium bird can be broken by impacting the ground... No matter how strong it might be, a biological pilot will die from the shock, of course, but it would be valuable data for drone development..."

  As he devolved into mutterings, the lead handler turned back to Matoya.

  "Still got it, huh?"

  "Yep, it's good to be back."

  Prior to her very recent entry into the Imperial Guard, Go-Matoya-Zeda had served in the Imperial Air Force as a fighter pilot. Back then, there had been talks within the high command about the establishment of the Guards' air arm. The proposal, however, had been ill-timed, as budgetary issues and doctrinal disputes with the regular Air Force eventually scuttled the plan. As a result, Matoya found herself reassigned instead as Princess Lugiel's security detail, and quietly folded into the Order of the Ancient's intelligence web.

  With the Holy Empire's expansion of clandestine operations as of late, Matoya now has a high chance of flying as part of the Emperor's personal operation.

  Stepping fully away from the simulator, she turned to look back at the pod-like device and muttered pensively.

  "Still, this radical 'new mechanism'..."

  "So, how was it?" the second handler asked curiously.

  "Hm? Oh, huh... Surreal is the word."

  "Well, the performance speaks for itself."

  At the lead handler's words, Matoya beamed.

  "Why, thank you. It did feel easier to pilot. It's just that I never expected that within several years of my absence from a fighter's cockpit, technology has marched on so outrageously. It makes my old Alpha feel like a wyvern. Which Alpha model is this aircraft supposed to be, anyway?"

  "It's still Alpha-3, ma'am."

  "Really? More like Alpha Three Hundred!"

  'Heavenly Vessels,' the Holy Milishial Empire's term for jet aircraft, had only around for 17 years, being one of the hardest ancient technologies they had ever attempted to reverse-engineer. When a workable model was finally achieved, everyone assumed its development would crawl forward at a glacial pace, barely sufficient to hold its own against rival air forces. It was Meteos Roguerider's pedanium technology that shattered those expectations, as though he had torn open a gateway to the future. Driven by a mix of pride and desperation—especially the need to escape the Finance Ministry's relentless pressure—the aviation engineers were unshackled at last, their suppressed creativity erupting like a beast set loose, producing a flood of outrageous designs meant to rival even Meteos' own vision.

  Meteos himself had said, "It's all good as long as you all don't try to kill me or something."

  It was gallows humor on the surface, but the savvy ones took it as a veiled warning. Though not widely known yet, he enjoyed the favor of the nobility-conglomerates of the entire Wonderful Blue Sky Business Federation and the Emperor, the former having their own private armies and the latter being a man infamous for smashing cultists into bloody smears with his bare hands, and the very man who had stopped the Holy Empire's slide toward constitutional monarchy after uncovering a massive cultist scheme to use democracy as a vehicle to pursue their own ends. All of them were powerful factions. It was a Ravernal behavior, anyway.

  Which meant there was only one way to surpass that prodigy: outperform him outright, and even if they fail, they'll going to rest among the stars. The proud engineers of the Holy Milishial Empire won't be outdone by a teenager, dammit!

  "So... Kyria Tagmatarch..."

  "What is it?"

  Giving a side glance to the second handler just as she was done admiring the simulator, Matoya tilted her head upon the sight of the man's expression moving into a sheepish smile.

  "Now that you've tested the aircraft... I wonder, what are the prospects of its adoption?"

  Matoya seemed to caught the intention and simply barked a laugh.

  "That's not how it works," she retorted, giving him a light tap on the shoulder as she strode past toward the changing room. She paused, then glanced back over her shoulder. "Still... the world isn't exactly short on enemies. I won't make any promises, but there's always room for something useful."

  Behind the curtain, the Holy Empire was already pushing ahead with its World Defense Line Plan, pushing into regions no man from the known world had ever mapped, but that was a tale for another day.

  Rather than looking discouraged, the second handler only shrugged and flashed a wry smile at his colleague.

  "Well, I gave it a shot."

  "Your lobbying's terrible."

  "Hah... whatever."

  At present, design bureaus throughout the Holy Empire have submitted proposals for an Alpha-2 successor, ranging from relatively conservative evolutions to some of the most unhinged designs known to man. With the introduction of Cauldrons and High Charity into the production line, the Holy Empire scrapped its earlier high-low mix force structure in favor of a single mass-produced aircraft intended to replace the Imperial Air Force's 3.000-strong fighter inventory. As a result, only one core fighter type can be selected as Alpha-3, with exports considered a secondary benefit at best. There is, admittedly, room for unexpected acquisitions, such as plans to expand the fleet to 9.000 aircraft with LEGION drones, but these possibilities are not considered central to current planning.

  The aircraft Matoya remotely piloted during the test flight carried the internal codename "Gyrfalcon." It was envisioned as a single-seat, all-weather multirole combat aircraft. Because the design was also intended for naval operation, the design bureau was uneasy about relying on a singe engine. As a result, Gyrfalcon was fitted with a pair of maneuver drives—magic engines shaped like low-bypass turbofans that could also function as air-breathing jets, despite that capability being largely superfluous.

  VTOL performance, achieved through a combination of anti-gravity magic, and thrust vectoring nozzles were considered standard practice by this point and were also included without hesitation. Still, with redundancy as a 'main gimmick,' the designers decided to incorporate conventional aerodynamic control surfaces rather than depending entirely on magical control circuits from the outset.

  By successfully preventing excessive size growth, the bureau delivered an aircraft categorized as "medium-sized," measuring 17,5 meters in length with a wingspan of 13,5 meters. It was still larger than the Alpha-2 but remained smaller than most contemporary prototypes. The twin-engine airframe featured a blended fuselage with a chiseled nose section, forward-swept intake ramps with diverterless supersonic inlet bumps, trapezoidal wings equipped with leading- and trailing-edge flaps, all-moving tailplanes, and a pair of outward-canted swept-back vertical stabilizers with truncated rudders.

  Gyrfalcon was produced in three variants. The manned "A" model used a clamshell-style glass canopy and a 'conventional' cockpit. The "L" variant was a LEGION drone, while the "R" model employed a completely enclosed cockpit designed for a biological pilot, incorporating the "new mechanism" Matoya had mentioned earlier.

  "Thinking 'bank left' and having the bird obey feels like piloting and more like dreaming..."

  "Then the COFFIN system is doing exactly what it's supposed to."

  At the second handler's words, the lead handler turned to him with a groan.

  "Seriously... you're still calling it that?"

  "Sorry, sorry, force of habit."

  COFFIN, short for "Connection for Flight Interface," was the design bureau's original name for the system. But the lead handler, who also headed the bureau, thought it sounded too ominous and renamed it "Navigate-by-Biosignal" in the next upgrade. Earlier COFFIN-equipped aircraft with sealed cockpits relied solely on external cameras feeding images to interior displays and were still flown using physical controls like sticks and buttons. NBB, however, built on their research into the Manadriver's ability to realize intent: it identified how a sapient being's mana responds to thought, amplified that response, and used it to control the aircraft directly. Having reached the same conclusions as the Rogueriders' own research, NBB ultimately resembled the Intention Automatic System used in manned mobile suits.

  Striving to advance further, the design bureau's research continued, just like many others like them.